The Fallen Nation
by Daisy Demise
Summary: After hearing Italy's cries, Germany rushes in to find Italy stained with red, and holding a sharp knife in his right hand. Just what has Italy done? NOTE: Arschloch German for asshole Only death will cure a fool Japanese proverb meaning you can't cure stupidity


"Germany! Germany it's terrible!" he shrieked from the kitchen.

By now, Germany had become accustomed to Italy's dramatic outbursts, yet he found himself sprinting into the kitchen where his shrieks had arisen from. He stopped in his tracks, staring at the scene set before him. Italy was curled on the ground, his shirt stained with red liquid, and bawling his eyes out as if he were in pain. He held a ladle in his left hand, and a sharp knife in the other.

"Shit!" Germany exclaimed, and before he tended to the fallen Italy, he searched the cabinets above the stove and found a medical kit. "Don't worry Italy! You will be alright!"

"Germany," he mumbled weakly, but he couldn't finish his sentence as Germany knelt on his right with a range of bandages and ointments.

"Don't speak," Germany ordered calmly as he stretched out the roll of bandage before applying a healthy dollop of ointment along the bandage. "Lift your shirt so I may tend to the wound."

Italy glanced at Germany reluctantly, but the concern in his eyes was so penetrating and manipulative. He did so, slowly the raising his stained shirt, and Germany's eyes widened when he inspected his chest.

"What the fuck?"

There was no wound, nor any marks for that matter, and suddenly Germany could smell the pungent aroma of…tomato.

"April fools Germany!"

Italy patted him on the back as he chuckled, while Germany remained frozen in his place, his chin tucked in so Italy could not witness the face of turmoil and deceit that was permanently planted there. Of course, now he could see the emptied saucepan on the stove, the drips of tomato sauce on the floor. Usually, a joke like this would have been noticed the moment he entered the room. And yet, it seemed Italy had managed to cloud his perception. Slowly, Germany's hands clenched around the bandages, and very faintly Italy could hear the sound of Germany's teeth gritting together, grinding his celebrations to a halt.

"Germany? Are you alright?" he asked nervously, as he began to back away from the still Germany.

By this time, Germany was beginning to mutter incoherent words, similar to the Black Magic chant England had attempted for summoning the devil. Italy felt the hairs on the back of his neck erect, predicting what was going to happen next.

"Arschloch Arschloch Arschloch Arschloch Arschloch Arschloch Arschloch Arschloch Arschloch Arschloch Arschloch Arschloch Arschloch Arschloch Arschloch!" Germany repeated over and over, the chant becoming more and more menacing.

Italy yelped and sprinted out of the door, and Germany stood up and chased after him, bandages still in hand. Italy could hear the heavy footsteps pounding behind him, Germany already closing the gap between him.

"I only meant it as a joke!" he cried as he turned a corner, swiftly opening the front door and running out on to the streets as Austria witnessed the race from his comfy armchair.

"Remember to be back by six Germany, we are having guests over for Apfelstrudel!" he called as Germany passed him.

"Got it!" he replied as he headed out of the door, closely following Italy.

People watched as the two powers passed them at lightning speed, and gazed at the intense concentration on Germany's face as he gripped the bandages.

"Hey Italy! Your neck looks injured! Let me wrap this bandage around it tightly, and hang you from the fucking Eiffel Tower!" he roared as he continued to pursue Italy, who was already digging into his pocket for his small white flag.

"No!" Italy cried, as he continued to dig into his pocket.

It was then that he remembered putting the white flag down on the coffee table, before opening his monthly subscription of "Pasta Cuisine". At that moment, everything slowed down around Italy, as he felt himself swirling into a black hole of utter despair. All that was left to save his sorry ass was Germany's mercy, completely unknown to the rest of the world. And only after just receiving a threat of being hung from the top of the Eiffel Tower, his chances of living appeared very slim. But he had to try something, Italians never gave up! Oh wait…

"Germany, I meant you no harm!"

"You tricked me you bastard!"

"It was only a joke!"

"Exactly! And a very sick one at that!"

"Have a sense of humour! At least I wasn't injured!"

"But you will be very soon!"

Nope, there was no compromising with that guy. And his pace was already starting to slow while Germany's fitness allowed his pace to remain constant. Eventually, Italy's legs gave out and he collapsed to the ground in a rather dramatic fashion.

"Italy!" Germany exclaimed, and he rushed to Italy's side once again.

"Germany…I can't go on," Italy whispered.

"No Italy, stay with me!"

"I can't go on…with this sprain in my ankle."

The whole sidewalk sank in silence as they watched Italy mutter his final words. Germany looked at the bandages which finally had a medical purpose in this whole escapade. He turned to Italy's pathetic and pitiful face, and his mind weighed out his options. What would Japan say?

"Only death will cure a fool," he imagined him say, wisdom radiating from him as always.

And so, a few minutes later, Italy was being carried away on stretchers by Liechtenstein and Switzerland as Germany walked back home, his mouth watering from the thought of Austria's homemade Apfelstrudel.


End file.
